


Tales of the Forgotten Realms

by Arthur_Marassatti



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Churches & Cathedrals, Dragonborn (D&D), Dragons, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Dwarves, Faerûn, Fantasy, Fictional Religion & Theology, Fights, Forgotten Realms Elements, Gen, Ghosts, Gnomes, Half-Elves, Orcs, Roleplaying Character, Taverns, The Underdark (Forgotten Realms), Tieflings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29476704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arthur_Marassatti/pseuds/Arthur_Marassatti
Summary: After the Year of Rogue Dragons, the whole world of Toril struggles to recover. Rebuilding and healing looked like everything the year of 1374 after the Dale-Reckoning had in store for the habitants of the Faerunian continent. However, as a mysterious fugitive arrives in the countryside town of Greenest, chased by his recent past, unexpected alliances are forged while the Gods watch from above, asking those who choose to adventure: "Is there any fight still left in you?"
Collections: Tales of the Forgotten Realms





	Tales of the Forgotten Realms

Chapter I  
The Ghosts of Greenest

The golden sun starts to shy away from the sky to the sanctuary’s back, as the twilight announces itself, painting the landscape with a dim orange light and inviting the Greenest’s folk to gather once more beneath the Church of the Earth Mother. A peaked slate roof composes, accompanied by the fieldstones on the tall walls and the candlelit altar, the warm and kind atmosphere that permeates all the establishments dedicated to the worship of Chauntea.

As the young priestess’ neck-fastened brown cloak drags across the red carpet that embellishes the ground, the final touches are carefully added to the central arrangement in the form of rose petals which spreading around and atop of the altar signifies celebration and gratitude towards the blessings cast upon the land and its crops, the farmers and their sacred duty, and the spring of life and its abundance. Cardinals flock at the roof structure, passing effortlessly through the open windows to briefly share their beautiful music and colors with the attendants, who range from commoners and farmers to the Governor himself, on some occasions. Outside, leaning it’s back against the east wall, stands a tall, large figure in a dirt-stained white tunic, face hidden by a hood attached to a beaten green cloak

\- Won’t you be joining us, sir? – inquired a priestess, from the temple’s entrance.

\- No…No – he responded, first with a whisper, almost to himself, then again in proper tone, as his thoughts came back to him – It’s… better not to. Besides, I am no knight to be called sir.

\- You sure you don’t want to at least come inside? - insisted the lady.

\- I am – he answered while pulling back the hood all at once to reveal his golden scales, eyes also yellow as the sun, and his tired, melancholic semblant, transparent even through the draconic traces.

The blonde priestess of Chauntea gasped, surprised by the unexpected sight of a dragonborn. As the moment passed, her visage started to match his.

\- I see…But Chauntea sees us all as children of the Earth, you know – argued the priestess, trying her best to sound encouraging.

\- I’m sure she does – agreed the dragonborn – Though I am convinced that the other children won’t be so receptive to their draconic sibling. Even more after last year’s – his thunderous voice fails for a second – catastrophic events.

As the priestess looked down, mourningly recalling recent history, her radiant smile was brought back to her by a new appearance.

\- Well, at least you won’t be alone out here – she giggles while pointing towards his feet.

\- What are you talking a… - the dragonborn speech halts as he realizes the mastiff cub’s presence – Hey! – he tries to reprehend the joyful puppy that now wraps itself on his cape.

What will one day be an impressive hound used for guard, hunting or even mounting by some races, presents himself as a one foot tall grey mess of fur that folds on itself like bread dough. Once he finally realizes that this comfortable cape comes attached to a person, his attention shifts towards the dragonborn, who reprehends him once more.

\- Stop. This. Madness – the cub’s round black eyes pay close attention to him, as the dog stops dragging the cape and throws himself to the ground, belly up.

\- Sorry, I didn’t catch your name- she says while totally exiting the temple she was poking her head out from - I’m Merith.

\- _Kuhrirasvim_ Kho'ga – he replies while accepting a handshake offered by Merith.

\- Kho’ga… - she repeats, trying to memorize the simpler name – Have you accommodated yourself somewhere in Greenest already?

\- No, not yet. Don’t want to cause trouble asking around.

\- You should stop by the Jumping Cricket, just by the west side of the Keep. Gwen is an old friend of mine, she won’t mind you staying there if you have the coin – she peeks inside the temple, then comes back – Looks like we’re about to start, I will have to leave you. Drop by if you need anything.

\- Thank you, I’ll go see about the inn. May the gods bless you, Merith – says Kho’ga.

\- May your path find the tranquility of the Earth Mother, “sir” Kho’ga – replies Merith, jokingly reinstituting the dragonborn’s unearned title, waving goodbye and disappearing through the oaken doors of the sanctuary.

\- “Sir Kho’ga” – he ironically whispers to himself while leaving – For my riches are unending and my deeds legendary! – he then turns to the mastiff – Do you hear that?

The dog proudly barks back once, like proclaiming himself the honorable squire of the new unorthodoxically named knight. They both walk down the stone stairs to the gravel path that leads back to town, their steps muffled by the praises and prayer coming from the House of Chauntea.

Five minutes after walking through weird stares and gossip from bystanders, what the dragonborn imagined to be the Jumping Cricket could already be seen from the street corner. The rectangular building, even though not part of the central town area, brings some excitement to its late guests and customers. Tonight, the delicate strumming of the yarting strings, masterfully played by what could only be a bard, accompanied the unconventional relentless beat that blasted from a ginger lady’s cajon, as she sat on top of the box-shaped wooden instrument and slapped it with bare hands. Eyes closed as in a trance, her feet and head would follow instinctively the rhythm of a song unknown not only to Kho’ga but to the greater share of the crowd.

The dragonborn enters the establishment as the song ends, shifting every pair of eyes’ attention to the newcomer and his pet both trying to show confidence as they walk towards the counter.

\- Good night, ma’am, I’m looking for Gwen, is she around? -asks the dragonborn to the gnome woman behind the balcony.

\- You’re talking to her, honey – answered Gwen, as she leans forward to peek below the visitor’s hood – My Goodness! Lizard folk? Haven’t heard of you guys for a while, though y’all were goners.

\- Oh, I’m sorry – responds the dragonborn pushing away the hood to reveal his unique appearance – Not lizard folk, I’m afraid, actually a dragonborn, my lady, _Khurirasvim_ Kho’ga. Merith said you wouldn’t mind renting a room as long as I had the coin.

\- Ah, drake fella! Difficult times for you people… – the gnome looks around, as chatting and music have ceased while the almost palpable tension in the atmosphere acts as a bad omen for both business and fortune. The woman whistles to the performing couple, raising her hand in a signal to continue as she grabs their attention. Music resumes, voices slowly start to fill the air, defusing the growing awkwardness – And she was right! Rooms for those with the coin to pay ‘em, that’s how the Cricket keeps jumping. How long you plan on staying?

\- Not for long. I suppose a tenday, at most – explains the drake fella as he scratches his head, letting the hornlike scales from the back of his brow release themselves from the cloak’s fasten to rest at his shoulders.  
-That’ll be fifty silver pieces for the tenday, dear – says Gwen as she goes up a step for her hand to reach balcony level.

\- Forty-five…fifty – Kho’ga finishes counting and pushes a pouch of coin through the counter – I also forgot to ask if you permit pets, for I’ve just…

Gwen grabs his hand alongside the purse and draws him closer.

– Don’t worry ‘bout the dog, lad, just one last bit of vital advice: no magic – she whispers with a frightened look on her face as she squeezes his hand and her hazelnut eyes open wide – You have to promise me, as do all my customers, no matter who you think you are or what kind of god, devil or wizard taught you and your kin the ways of bending the Weave, you won’t do it. Not inside this inn. Not in the Cricket – her voice almost cracks in the end.

\- I-I… You have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gwen, for I do not possess such powers at the moment. I swear under my Dragon God symbol: no magic – promises the dragonborn, meaning it, even realizing he has lost his ecclesiastical insignia for almost a month now.

\- Dragon God? You’re not with those purple fellas, are you? – asks the gnome, happy to change to a lighter gossip subject, now scanning the dragonborn head to toe.

\- Purple fellas, you said? – Kho’ga leans forward as well, in a mix of intrigue and worry.

\- Yeah, once every week or so I hear this mumbling about dragons and some priest wearing purple between a few shady lads who come by. Bunch of troublemakers, if you ask me. Those people give me the creeps – shares the concerned woman as she releases Kho’ga, grabs the coin and steps down, making her braided brown hair swing around her shoulder while she fills a mug at a barrel under the counter and slides it across towards him.

\- Go on, don’t just stay there staring at me like a dead fish, grab the mug and find a table, will you? First one’s on the house – says the innkeeper.

\- I’ll come back for several more – predicts the dragonborn, with a shocked expression fruit of the recent revelations. He walks to a table at the front of the parlor, opposite to the musicians, sits there drinking in silence for a couple minutes, the noise of his thoughts too loud to notice the end of the couple’s performance, only realizing the show was concluded when the saloon was filled by the sound of clapping hands by the public that occupied every table in the tavern. He joined the round of applause briefly.

Before Kho’ga could finish his mug, the bard was already coming his way, accompanied by his partner.

\- Can we share the table, my good man? Place is crawling with people today! – asked the bard in a friendly tone, hands gesticulating around as he speaks.

\- Of course, have your seats – promptly responded the dragonborn, surprised by the proposition.

As the woman pulls her chair, she giggles at the dog laying right beside Kho’ga.

\- I see you have your guard hound on duty tonight – commented the fair skinned half-elf that looked to be around her twenties – What are your names? What brings you guys here?

\- Khurirasvim Kho’ga is the name, my lady. I’m a paladin of Bahamut brought here by circumstances beyond my control. You know, after last year’s events… I’m certain you’ve heard of it all – explained the paladin, partially avoiding the subject – On the dog matter, he still has no name, for we’ve just met. Not even sure if I’m keeping the little guy, to be fair, since it might be a struggle to feed us both – he looks at the cub that is now fascinated by his new friends, wiggling his tail and trying to climb to the lady’s lap.

\- What you mean you ain’t sure?! Look at him, he’s adorable! – advocates the percussionist while lifting the puppy from the ground and resting him at her lap – Besides, I think he really likes you.

\- That would make him the first one around here – exaggerates the unpopular dragonborn as he looks around, still receiving some cold stares from other tables.

\- Ah, don’t let it get to you – said the bard, putting his yarting to rest on top of his partner’s cajon on the ground – countryside folk will always find someone else to hate. Just give it a week or two, they’ll be looking at some new guy just the way they look at you now – states the human with a fine-tuned soothing voice while waving his hand to a dwarven waiter at the end of their row, parallel to the saloon’s stage.

\- Be right there, chief, hold on! – signalized the bald brown-bearded chubby dwarf, seemingly overloaded with the saloon’s orders all to himself.

\- I’m Edwin, by the way – announces the bard to Kho’ga, then looking at the half-elf, cueing her in.

\- And I’m Kyrie! Sorry for not mentioning it earlier, we’re used to introducing ourselves at the gig’s start, but you must’ve come in only by the end – deducted Kyrie, looking back at Edwin for confirmation.

\- As if you’d know it, playing with both eyes closed – teases the black-haired yarting player.

\- Maybe next time I’ll slap you instead of the cajon, so I can keep my eyes open to see where I’m hitting – threatens the lady, with a cold stare.

\- Alright, I can be your eyes, no need to get so passionate about that – retreats the bard, knowing which battles to take.

\- Alright, lads, lady, what can I get ya? Refill? – finally asks the arriving waiter, pointing towards Kho’ga’s empty mug lying on the wooden round table.

\- Refill – says the dragonborn, putting the mug on the waiter’s plate along with a couple coins – And some meat.

\- Yeah, I’ll be joining my friend here – quickly decides the bard, tossing some silver on the plate as well

\- Same for me! Also, toss in some bread, if you have any – says Kyrie as she counts her silver.

\- Oh, no, no, please! Tonight’s on the house for both of ya! Beautiful, beautiful stuff you played there! Brought me back home for a moment – the dwarven man smiles largely while he returns the coin and starts to make his way to the counter, whistling the catchy melody of their last song – Be right back at’cha!

Edwin nods at the waiter, flattered, then looks back to Kyrie and Kho’ga

\- I’m starting to like this town already! – announces the musician, leaning back at his chair, scratching his chin and his dark beard, taking the free meal as good presage for his stay in Greenest – Now, tell me, Kho’ga, what do you know about the Ghosts of Greenest?

\- Ghosts? Haven’t heard of any stories, as far as I recall – responds the dragonborn, troubled and curious, inching forward in his seat, leaning on his arms crossed on the table.

\- So, you don’t know ‘bout them yet? - Kyrie looks around, then leans forward as well, whispering – You’ve spoken to Gwen, right? “No magic!” – she mimics the innkeeper’s accent and tone while quoting what seems to be the Jumping Cricket’s rule number one – She only asks that out of fear for the Ghosts.

\- We have been hearing lots of gossip lately around town. It is no easy task to filter the reliable info from common folk delirium, but what we have seemed to grasp out of it is that these Ghosts travel through the Weave and are somehow attracted by magic – the bard joins the gossip, looking forward for Kho’ga’s reaction, smirking while he shares the news.

\- That doesn’t make any sense! – says the paladin, astonished.

\- Oh, and we didn’t even get to the strange part yet – Edwin rubs his hands, excited to share what comes next – We’ve been to the cemetery, no disturbed graves, no magic, not a single word about any type of necromancy or dark magic in the recent days…

\- No other sign of disturbance to the life cycle, no trace of demon, devil or spirit, no curse… Nothing – adds Kyrie, speaking in an almost inaudible tone as the mastiff cub stands in her lap and rests his head on top of the table, eager to take part in the conversation.

The dragonborn stretches his back, making the chainmail beneath the tunic scrape against the chair as he rests once more.

– You two seem to be doing a lot of investigation for a couple of musicians. Did someone hire you for that? – inquires the paladin, frowning his brow.

\- Well, it is a bit more complicated than that, but yes, we’re on a payroll – explains the bard.

\- As long as we report – reminds the girl.

\- Oh… We still got to do that, don’t we? – laments Edwin, clenching his teeth on a nervous smile.

\- Report to whom? – asks Kho’ga, curious.

\- That we’ll have to keep for ourselves – answers Kyrie as she winks to the dragonborn, who looks confused.

\- Let’s just say we got some important friends in Berdusk who value any information we can gather – shares the human.

\- Important friends, huh? – Repeats the dragonborn, doubtful.

\- Oh, yeah, big time – Edwin reassures, making a wide gesture with his hands to emphasize.

As Kho’ga tries to decipher the unreadable face of the bard, his eyes wander slightly to the side, towards the Cricket’s entrance.

\- Shit! – the paladin curses, almost to himself, while covering his face once more beneath the grimy hood.

Kyrie follows his stare to find a human male in leather armor standing at the door, his scarred face turning as his black eyes sweep the crowded saloon. Edwin discretely peeks over his shoulder to inspect the newcomer, then turns back to Kho’ga, sighing.

\- Friend of yours? – asks the bard, already knowing the answer.

\- Bounty hunter – clarifies the dragonborn – Been following me since Triel, I didn’t think it would be worth it for him to come all this way, or that he would actually find me, to be fair. Something must have changed.

\- And he’s not alone – whispers Kyrie, as the whole table spots the bounty hunter nodding his head facing the outside, a silent invite for the other two similarly equipped figures to enter the Cricket. One’s stature, grayish skin, prominent teeth and overall physical superiority among the rest reflects his orcish nature as he just stood at the door, motionless. At least two feet smaller and way thinner, a female tiefling appeared from behind the half-orc, twisting her goat-like horns and smirking in anticipation as she graciously moved towards the corner, tail wiggling after her, stopping where Kyrie and Edwin had performed earlier and starting to search the tables one by one with those silver eyes, a stare cold as her pale blue skin.

With such striking characteristics, it is hard for the group to pass unnoticed, even though they inspire more untrust than fear or hatred. For it was not their kinds responsible for last year’s destruction across Faerûn, they don’t get the same treatment as Kho’ga. One rarely does.

\- So, out of curiosity only, what’s your plan? – asks Edwin as he straightens his blue jacket on top of his blank linen shirt

\- I take out the first one before they get a reaction – the paladin plots, in serious, calm tone – The tiefling might bail out, then it’s just me and the _ghik_ , and only one of us breathes fire.

\- Can’t say I don’t like it! – the bard smiles, putting both his hands behind his slick back hair, looking at Kyrie.

\- You’ll only get like one strike before they move, couple ones if they’re slow – Kyrie analyzes as she glances over to the party scanning the tavern – Sure you can do it?

Kho’ga sighs.

\- What choice do I have? He might even have learned some new tricks since last time.

\- He won’t use them, though – assures Edwin in a melodic tone, confident, as he searches through his pouch.

\- Edwin!? – Kyrie reprehends his partner, who’s about to get involved.

\- How can you be so sure? – questions Kho’ga, interested in raising his odds.

\- We won’t let him – replies the bard, putting on his leather gloves and wiggling his right hand’s fingers.

\- Edwin! – Kyrie squeezes his left arm – What are you thinking?

\- C’mon, aren’t we planning on investigating some more? I’m sure we will get into some deeper shit than this soon enough. A big guy like him could help! – explains Edwin.

\- Can you? – asks the half-elf, staring deep into Kho’ga’s eyes, without letting go of the bard, however.

\- I’m much more useful alive and breathing, that I can certainly guarantee. Not quite experienced in ghost chasing myself, but if you’re in need of protection, that I can still offer – the paladin sighs as he has little to add to what has already been said by the bard – And I will keep the dog as well.

She looks down to her lap to the best pity face the mastiff could muster. He has no idea of what’s going on, so he defaults to looking cute. Has worked wonders for him so far.

\- Fine – the lady finally agrees, releasing Edwin from her grasp and removing the mastiff cub from her lap, down to the ground once more – I’ll go get our stuff.

Kyrie jumps to her feet and quickly navigates through the crowded tavern, reaching the steps that lead to the second floor.

\- So, tell me about his tricks. At least his old ones – Edwin tries to look relaxed, but his tapping fingers on the table give away his true emotions.

\- Last time we fought, he led with _ixen svent_. To no one’s surprise, I was barely scratched by it. Took the opportunity to land a blow – Kho’ga explains, mimicking his strike with his right hand on a diagonal slice.

-Explains the scars. What’s that spell you said he cast?

\- _Ixen svent_. I am no wizard, but it didn’t seem that powerful, nothing but a fire bolt. The bastard actually tried to hit me with fire, with a spell in my own language – Kho’ga closes his hand in a tight fist, his golden eyes light in anger by the sheer remembrance of the last encounter – His existence will pester the gods no longer – the draconic accent shows itself through his enraged deep voice.

\- But this time – Edwin raises a finger – He’s prepared. Or at least that’s what he thinks. So, he may try some elven shit and maybe ice instead of fire. Now, on contrary to that lady over there – his finger points in the direction of the tiefling woman – Who looks prepared to send this whole Cricket to its last jump in a rampaging blizzard, this guy – he turns and points towards his back, to the human mercenary - Doesn’t strike me exactly as a scholar of the ancient arts, so he might as well try something simple just to get a head start. Either way, we’ll be ready. Just remember: if you see a spell, don’t hesitate, go for the kill, we will handle it.

As he finishes explaining, Edwin taps Kho’ga in the right shoulder twice as a wish of good luck, gets up just in time to see Kyrie returning from the second floor with a backpack in one hand, a quarterstaff in the other. She leans her head to her left and raises both eyebrows. Edwin gets the message and meets her at the tavern’s back wall.

Meanwhile, Kho’ga puts his hands together, fingers interlaced as he rests both elbows above the table to support his head, bowing in prayer with both eyes closed.

\- I have come, once again, to beg thee. Not for forgiveness, since my previous acts of cowardice still stains both thy Church and thy bloodline’s honor. Neither for thy blessings and miracles, Justicemaker, nor for thy magic to strike those who hunt us down and turn dragonkin against itself. No, Lord of the North Wind, I merely ask thee to watch – his golden eyes open wide to see his own hands almost crushing one another in an inseparable tight grasp – Behold, Bahamut, whilst thy son tires himself of running and hiding covered by fear, ashamed of his own blood. Witness, Lord, as the ashes of thine enemies join those of the temple they desecrated. May thy will be done, and thy justice prevail.

When the paladin finishes his sayings, he meets the stare of the tiefling, whose eyes gleam in anticipation as she licks her lips, then whistles, attracting the human partner’s attention. As he follows her gaze, standing between the arranged tables and the counter, the Cricket falls silent once more, every soul’s attention grabbed towards the bounty hunter slowly walking towards the dragonborn’s table and pulling a chair aside to lean on, resting his right foot on the seat. The waiter, who’s returning with the requested food, is stopped by Gwen at the kitchen’s exit to the saloon as they both assess the situation.

\- Khurirasvim Kho’ga! What a pleasurable fucking sight! – the human speaks loudly, showing a thirsty smile – You know, when we lost you back there at Elturel, I was almost giving up on ya! You know, just like your dead friends in Triel, or this make-believe dragon you folk like so much. But then! Then I was reminded by some interesting fellas on these parts that most of them would actually kill for a vial of dragon blood, you see. So, I decided to give it another shot and who would’ve fucking guessed, here you are! – he takes his foot off the wooden chair – C’mon, let’s get on with it. Mind accompanying me and my friends outside? We’ve been promised your weight in gold and I wouldn’t like to give our clients time to realize how much of an overpayment that is.

\- Your friends will be leaving this tavern by themselves – Kho’ga rises to his feet, pushing back the chair, that screeches through the floor, with the mastiff cub hiding below it – cursing the day they came across your worthless soul, who should by now know better than to corner a dragon – his deep, enraged voice escapes through his clenched teeth.

\- Where’d all that courage come from? Do we really have to remind you of the difference between true dragons and scum like you? – shouts the bounty hunter, while reaching for something in his pocket.

\- You seem to have already forgotten to fear the _darastrix._ Let me remind you and show your tiefling wench what her kind missed from our world last year – Kho’ga threatens, almost blind by rage, using all his will to hold himself until the time is right.

\- Enough of the lizard! – declares the human bounty hunter, as he takes a step back, pulling a quarter-pound of a white powder, recognized by any spellcaster as diamond dust – _Illunathros holimion_!

And the time was finally right. In a flash, the diamond dust turned into a white orb at the mercenary’s left hand, who spins it with a flick of his right wrist, summoning three rays of ice that shoot towards Kho’ga. The dragonborn fights his instincts to dodge the attack and rushes straight into it, stepping into the round table before lunging above the magic strings that seem to follow his move, going upwards to meet him midair. Time seems to slow down while he starts to feel the cold touch on his boots and brings out his mace from beneath the cape to his right hand, arching back for the strike.

The freezing temperature, about to become death’s cold embrace, seizes to drop. The rays of ice dissipate amidst their vertical path at the sound of Edwin’s snapping fingers.

\- An-an-an – reprehends the bard, who cracks a smile, wiggling his right index finger in jocose reproval of the bounty hunter’s cast attempt, whilst a scroll held open by his left hand bursts in flames, quickly reducing itself to nothingness.

Seeing magic had failed him, the mercenary, covered by the dragonborn’s shadow projected by the lit lamps on the Cricket walls, desperately tries to reach for his long sword’s hilt with his right hand as he vainly attempts protecting himself with the left one.

Kho’ga screams in rage as he comes down, swinging his mace on a diagonal strike, lodging it on the top left of the mercenary’ skull, pushing it with all his weight, making the leather armored human fall back, hitting the balcony before falling hard to the ground, his head bouncing with the impact. As soon as his target hits the floor, the paladin steps on his chest, taking advantage of the first strike’s momentum to raise his mace once more, coming down from his left side, hitting another blow to the head. Blood spills, staining the weapon and a segment of the floor while Kho’ga’s scream turns into a terrifying roar that could be heard all across the quarter.

The tense atmosphere turns to outright panic at the sight of a fight between a dragonborn and magic users, as people rush towards the exit, making their way behind the half-orc, who no longer stays there as he’s now rushing into combat, drawing his hand axe. Gwen pulls the dwarf waiter close.

\- Torik, make for the kitchen, tell the boy to get help from the Keep! – Gwen demands, frightened at the sight of the fight breaking loose.

\- Y-yes ma’am – answers the dwarven waiter, brown eyes open in astonishment as he turns to the corridor behind him – W-what about’cha? – he stops himself, concerned for the innkeeper.

\- I’ll go get Gary. Bar the door! -says Gwen, mustering all her courage in order to recover the ability to move. She shakes her head and starts making her way around the balcony.

Angered by the unexpected turn of events, the tiefling arches forward, slowly raising both hands while chanting in a language unknown to those too afraid to meddle with the Underdark:

\- _Malin lugri_ – a small piece of iron disappears from her left hand as the tiefling’ silver eyes turn black and target the bard, while she walks closer, confidently, through the fleeing crowd.

Edwin feels his muscles tighten more and more at every movement attempt, until he’s totally frozen in place, finding it hard even to gasp for air under the tiefling’s curse.

\- Edwin! Edwin! – Kyrie turns to the static bard, trying to make sense of his state. The only response she gets is a slight move of Edwin’s eyeballs towards her, taken by panic. She reaches for her scimitar strapped to the backpack, readies the wooden shield held on her left hand, letting go of the quarterstaff, and rushes straight towards the blue-skinned enchantress, going around turned tables and stepping into pieces of broken chairs and moist mug parts on the floor of a much emptier Cricket.

Parallel to Kyrie, following the opposite direction, rushes the half-orc warrior, his head kept low as he charges until he’s close enough to tackle Kho’ga, taking him by surprise with that quick of a reaction. They both fly six feet straight, towards the stairs that lead to the second floor, before coming down heavily: Kho’ga lands with his back against a step and grunts in pain while the warrior sits on his chest and raises the hand axe, bringing it down viciously, aiming for the dragonborn’s head. Kho’ga stops the attack, blocking the orc’s arm with his own, impeding the warrior from connecting the blow.

Growling in frustration, the fighter slides his weapon backwards, cutting through the dragonborn’ sleeves, tainting the paladin’s green cape with his own blood, as the axe slices Kho’ga’s forearm. He hides a scream of pain behind his clenched teeth. Realizing he dropped his mace when falling, he uses his free right hand to choke the orc while feeling the familiar sensation of blood rushing through his veins as a red glow intensifies itself, rising up from his chest to inside his throat. His yellow eyes slowly turning to a scarlet red. The gray mercenary, knowing what’s about to happen, closes his left hand on a fist and delivers a quick punch on Kho’ga’s right cheek, forcing his head to the side and briefly escaping his grasp.

Gwen jumps in place, impatiently waiting a couple seconds for the brawling warriors to clear the passage to the second floor. She quickly changes her mind, rushing outside, stumbling on her feet through the main door and yelling at the second floor’s open window.

\- Gary! Gary, we need help!

Before she can even finish, a rope is thrown from above, reaching all the way to the ground in the dark street, the other end tied somewhere inside that second-floor room. From the square window comes out the compact silhouette of a gnome, grumbling as he carefully descends the rope, holding a backpack. Reaching what he judged to be a safe distance from the ground, he lets go of the rope, absorbing the impact of the fall with his bending knees, cursing as he lands, beating some dirt off of his dark brown overcoat. As he turns to face Gwen, the moonlight reveals his unique appearance: eyes blue as sapphire, red tufts of hair escaping below his black leather hat towards his pointy elf-like ears, accompanied by his brown hued skin and his incredibly brushed moustache that lines his upper lip.

\- The hell are you people doing down here? – asks Gary, speaking fast with his high-pitched voice – It isn’t just some brawl, is it? Saw folks running for their damn lives from my window!

\- No, no, Gary, you gotta listen to me! – Gwen tries to keep up with the speed, gesticulating as she speaks – There’s this drake fella, friends with Merith, came in followed by some mercs… I-I don’t know what they want with the lad, but they’re about to burn the whole place down and…- the innkeeper takes both of Gary’s hands – Gary, they’ve used magic. Place will be crawling with Ghosts anytime. We need you.

Gary stares at Gwen’s eyes, seeing the same despair they’ve been running from since what looks like forever. She never liked the battlefield, and neither did he. For all he knows, his eyes might be looking exactly the same.

\- Help is on the way from the Keep, I’ve sent the boy – assures Gwen, trying to encourage her old friend.

\- Alright – the rock gnome answers, trying to at least look less nervous, taking a deep breath whilst searching through his backpack and turning to face the Cricket’s entrance – At least find somewhere to hide, I don’t want to worry about’cha.

As Gary peeks inside the tavern, he is stunned by the sight of the mostly destroyed saloon. Immediately, his eyes meet with those of Edwin, frozen in place as Kyrie swings her scimitar towards the tiefling, who nimbly dodges two horizontal strikes from the half-elf, then avoids a thrust by sidestepping. She then taps Kyrie’s left shoulder as she passes by, chanting words inaudible from where Gary stands, causing her hand to gain a dark glow as Kyrie lets out a scream of pain while dropping the wooden shield and falling to her knees. The gnome averts his gaze to the other side of the tavern, just in time to witness Kho’ga, on the ground, throwing a left punch to the half-orc’s ribs, forcing him to lean that way, then bringing the right elbow to the side of the warrior’s temple, bringing him down to the paladin’s side. They both get up at the same time, the paladin with his back against the counter after rolling sideways to recover his mace. The half-orc takes a step forward and swings his axe horizontally, aiming for the dragonborn’s arms with a series of circular strikes, one right after the other as they are all parried by the paladin’s weapon. Seeing as the orc gets closer, grabbing his hand axe by the blade’s beard, using it almost as a bladed fist, Kho’ga arches back against the balcony and lands a kick to the mercenary’s chest, forcing him to take two steps back while the paladin grabs a full mug and pours its content in a splash against the orc, following it up by unleashing his fire breath, covering the tall figure in flames that kept coming out of the dragonborn’s wide open mouth as he drops his mace and closes both fists while leaning forward, almost losing balance, then taking two steps to regain it, maintaining the burst of fire until the warrior’s screams could no longer be heard from within the flames.

For a brief moment, the sight of the burning body lighting its surroundings on the stone floor takes Gary back to that winter night of last year’s 20th Hammer, when he first witnessed the cataclysmic unraveling of a Dracorage. He simply stays put, his mind reconstructing that living nightmare in an exceptional level of detail: the snow blending with ash, the smell of black powder and burnt wood, the unforgettable roar of the rampaging red dragon, never seen in Lantan before nor after the tragedy. Stumbling around, he can hear his friends calling for help amidst wreckage and feel the warmth of nearby explosions as Gwen’s voice stands out from the rest, desperate: “Gary! Gary!”.

Raising both hands to cover his face, the rock gnome groans as the pain from his memory turns physical.

\- No…no, no, no. Not again – he shakes his head, tormented, trying to escape his own mind.

\- Gary! – Gwen shouts while slapping him hard in the face, bringing his friend back to the present. When his focus changes to her, she grabs him by the shoulders and continues – You gotta save them! - her choking voice and red face at the brink of crying as tears already start to slide down her cheeks.

Gary simply nods, unable to talk, since that would require reasoning, and reason would tell him to grab his friend and run as far as he could before it’s too late. With a quick movement, he steps in, draws his crossbow from inside the backpack, aims it at the tiefling and fires the first bolt. She feels the impact on her shoulder and the warmth of her blood as it drips from the wound, losing her breath for a second, the black eyes returning to silver when she drops her concentration briefly, but enough for the bard to finally escape her imprisonment, falling to his knee, gasping for breath.

Scanning around to assess her disadvantageous position, outnumbered and surrounded, the tiefling steps back and lays her right hand on her left shoulder, covering her fingers in blood before extending them towards the ground, as if offering the dripping blood.

\- _Hion_ – she whispers, as the drops of blood turn into thick black smoke that engulfs her figure, expanding in all directions, as Kyrie and Edwin retreat, helped by Gary, avoiding contact with the gas.

Kho’ga stumbles and catches himself on a chair by his side, leaning against its back as he breathes deeply, steam still coming out of his mouth, his eyes slowly regaining the yellow pigment, when sudden movement draws his attention back to the human bounty hunter, now sitting on the stone floor, barely able to see beneath the constant stream of blood flowing on his head, flooding his eyes.

\- …Fucking drake – he mutters to himself while raising his trembling left hand towards Kho’ga – _Oloth…elgg…-_ crackling energy accumulates in his palm while he utters the evocation – S _sus…_! – the chanting unexpectedly halts. Blood squirts from the mercenary’s neck as he briefly chokes and completely seizes movement, dead by the wound precisely cut open. His body collapses to the ground, however his left hand is inexplicably held in place, releasing the spell it generated, not as the intended blast, but as a gentle channel of golden light, wandering loosely until it is absorbed by the creature that now partially reveals his ethereal form: humanoid shape, bald head, blank eyes containing some sort of drawn symbol and the skeletal physique gave it this cadaverous look as it opened its mouth, as if feeding off of that glowing energy flowing inwards through his throat and eyes. It sends out an agonizing gasp as it revels upon its feast, letting go of the bounty hunter’s lifeless arm, resting its left hand on its own chest, covered only by a ragged sleeveless tunic, as the other hand wields a dagger with an ice pick grip. Its legs and feet can’t be seen as it slowly leans back, disappearing once more with its spine-chilling whisper echoing throughout the saloon’s sepulchral silence.

Gwen, who is peeking inside through the tavern’s door, prays as several other haunting whispers can be heard across the Jumping Cricket.

\- Gaerdal, protect us – she puts her hands together and closes her eyes, tears streaming down her face as she tries proceeding with prayer, mumbling words of protection.

Gary’ semblant turns to grief as he comes to the realization:

\- They’re already here.


End file.
